


The Blasterslinger

by FesteringSilence, White_Rainbow



Series: Operation: Galactic Gambit [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: A little gunslinger action, Bonus scene to prompt, Fan Art, Humor, Jealousy, Krennic gets jealous, M/M, Male Bonding, Tarkin needs to learn to relax, These imperial Cowboys i swear, Thrawn is not, Thrawn rejects Krennics attempt to make Tarkin jealous, Veers invites Tarkin to join him in his favorite hobby, blasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FesteringSilence/pseuds/FesteringSilence, https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Taken from a writing prompt from admfirmuspiett:  What does Wilhuff do to relax? Does he relax?This scene takes place directly after the gala. The Battle of Yavin IV ends with the Empire victorious and the rebel forces are defeated and scattered.Bonus scene is a direct result from  FesteringSilence and I not able to resist a jealous Krennic and an unperturbed Thrawn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Co-Creator/Writer: [White Rainbow](http://white-rainbowff.tumblr.com/)  
> Co-Creator/Artist: [FesteringSilence](http://festeringsilence.tumblr.com/)  
> 

“That will be all, general,” Tarkin said, still gazing out the viewport of his quarters.

“Thank you, sir,” General Veers replied. “My men are looking forward to a bit of R&R after this long war.”

Tarkin hummed a non-committal reply.

Out in the glittering darkness of space, TIE Fighters occasionally floated across his vision, running drills no doubt. There was little else to do, after all.

In the days following the fall of the Rebellion at Yavin, there existed an anti-climactic lull in the galaxy. There was work to be done, yes, but the urgency that fueled the Empire’s actions for nearly a decade was now nothing more than galactic maintenance and the occasional rounding up of rebel deserters.

It was a time of peace, he supposed.

_So then why do I feel so...unsatisfied?_

“...Sir?”

Tarkin turned his head, arching an eyebrow at the general whom he assumed had already left him.

“That will be all, general.”

Veers did not move. He stood at attention, his officer’s cap tucked beneath his arm, chin up and jaw set. Always the iron-willed soldier, the general showed only the slightest hint of apprehension with a quick rise and fall of his Adam’s apple.

“Sir, if you have nothing pressing at the moment, might I suggest you take some leave yourself.”

Tarkin turned fully to the general, hands tucked behind his back and eyes narrowed. “I do not need leave time, general. Whether in peace or in war I am still the Grand Moff of the Empire and one does not take a holiday with such a title.”

“With all due respect, sir, your title should earn you a rather decent holiday. Empire knows you have earned it.” Veers arched an audacious eyebrow.  “We have won, sir. Our enemies have been crushed. We-”

Tarkin waved a dismissive hand and turned back to the viewport. “Thank you for your concern, general.”

“Yes, sir,” Veers replied.

Tarkin watched the reflection of the general in the glass. Giving a curt bow, Veers turned on his heel and strode towards the door.  He paused in the doorway before turning back a final time. “If you change your mind, I will be in Hanger Bay Nine.” Then as an afterthought he added, “and wear something that you do not mind getting bloody.”

By the time Tarkin turned to face the general, Veers was gone.

\-----

Hangar Bay Nine was better known as a TIE Fighter graveyard where engineers stored, scrapped and repurposed the broken machines. The manner in which the vehicles were laid out resembled some sort of death-defying obstacle course. Fractured wings served as ramps, pods were hollowed out and filled with nests of frayed wires, and slabs of metal scraps were welded together like rungs on a ladder or bouldering footholds.

Tarkin arrived in the hangar wearing a simple black shirt tucked into a pair of deep green cargo pants and a pair of his most comfortable boots, the very same he wore on his Eriadu safari trips. The boots were scuffed and worn with definitive claw and tooth marks against the thick leather.

Tarkin found Veers sitting on an old ammunition crate that looked like it had not seen the light of day since the Clone Wars. Rather than leap to his feet, the general merely glanced at the grand moff before returning to his primary focus, tightening a screw on a handheld controller. “Governor, you made it,” he said.

The greeting was so casual that Tarkin had a mind to reprimand the general, but he held his tongue. Veers was no longer in uniform, now wearing a pair of mottled khaki cargo pants and an olive green shirt that clung to his broad army-sculpted form.

“It seems you had little doubt I would show,” Tarkin remarked, eyeing the ammunition crate next to the general. A black felt blanket cushioned eight blasters, two pairs of sporting blasters and two pairs of heavy blasters, as well as a row of energy cartridges.

“A hope rather than an assumption,” Veers retorted, rising to his feet, though he was still not acknowledging the rank between them. “Thank you for coming, sir.”

The relaxed posture of the general and the casual clothes they both donned gave Tarkin an ease he did not expect. In all logic, even out of uniform, he vastly outranked the military man, but this event seemed to not involve rank and so Tarkin allowed himself to settle into the informal setting.

Tarkin approached the crate, gliding his fingers over the cool barrel of the long-nosed sporting blaster. He noted the energy cylinder was a stouter-than-average model with a pair of tubes connecting the cylinder to what looked like a small exhaust port?

“These are not the standard-issue nobleman’s wampa shooter. They certainly are not weapons for the weak-chinned.”

A brief smile twitched on Veers’ serious face. “You noticed. No, these were found among the intercepted cargo bound for Saw Guerra’s remaining forces. They modified the sporting blasters to shoot twice the range without sacrificing accuracy.”

“They will overheat quickly,” Tarkin remarked, picking up the blaster and turning it over in his hand, testing its weight. He glanced up at Veers to see the general keep his face neutral, though his eyes seemed to glitter with excitement.

His words came out quick and clipped, which for “Iron Max” it was as close to giddy as the man came.

“Yes, I deduced this as well. If you will notice, the small exhaust port in the back will allow for, I would say, eighteen to twenty blasts rather than the usual five or six expected from these blasters. However, after that, they will be little more than piping-hot paperweights. This is why I have provided heavy blasters as backup. Still, I am eager to give these weapons a try, and I hope you look forward to it as well.”

“I am curious,” Tarkin admitted. “And what shall we be using for target practice?” Tarkin asked, surveying the hangar for cans or bottles or...perhaps rebel pilot helmets.

“Ah,” Veers said, holding up the small blue box. “Now this...will be a bit unconventional, sir, but again I hope that you will find this to your liking.”

The general pressed the center button and a low hum filled the air.

 _No...not a hum,_ Tarkin corrected. _It sounds like…buzzing._

Ten metallic insects, the size of mouse droids, rose in the air from behind a cracked TIE pod.

“Hornet droids,” Tarkin said, arching an eyebrow. Instinctively, his body calmed, every muscle stilled. It was a technique that came as naturally to him as breathing despite not having hunted on the dangerous plains of Eriadu for nearly a decade. “Are they fully operational?”

Veers slowly hooked the controller to his belt, his eyes fixed on the insects. “Of course, sir.”

Tarkin allowed himself to indulge in the slight flutter in his chest. Hornet drones were used in Stormtrooper training courses and were modeled after Blaster Hornets of his homeworld. Their sting was not deadly, but very painful. A good five or six attacks would put a stormtrooper in the infirmary for a month.

“And how many of them are there?” he said in a low tone.

“There are as many as we wish until we run out of ammunition,” Veers replied, his brown eyes seemed to study Tarkin closely. “Will this be acceptable, sir?”

Tarkin turned to look at Veers, his gray eyes scrutinizing the general.  
“How did you know I would come here?”

Veers did not shy away from his gaze. Unblinking, he replied, “You are the master huntsman of Eriadu. A living legend of sharpshooters. If ever there was an activity to soothe the greatest blasterslinger in the Outer Rim, it would be doing what he does best.”

The hornets split off into two groups, circling the hanger and the Imperials who moved along with them. The pincer attack the drones were planning put Tarkin and Veers backs together.

“How shall we proceed, general?”

“Sir, I would be honored if you gave the order instead.”

Not since the Clone Wars had someone needed military stratagem from Tarkin and exhilaration swelled in the chest of this hunter-turned-politician.

“In that case, general...”

Tarkin fired five shots in quick succession.

_Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop._

“...follow my lead, and try not to get stung.”

Five hornet droids fell to the ground, glowing eyes dimming, a blaster hole between their eyes.

Veers fired five shots as well, catching four targets. The fifth dove at Veers who slammed the butt of his gun into the head of the drone. It fell to the floor, a sparking mess of wires.

“Yes, sir,” Veers nodded. “It will be a pleasure to see the legend in action today,” he remarked, which felt more matter-of-fact than flattery.

“You will not see a legend today, general,” Tarkin said, twirling the blaster on its trigger guard, already comfortable with the weapon in his hand. “You will merely see a predator long overdue for a hunt.”

Ten more hornet droids rose in the air.

The two warriors merely smiled.

 

**Bonus Scene with FesteringSilence art:**

 

Tarkin and Veers exit Docking Bay Nine engaging in invigorated conversation and appearing significantly more relaxed. Naturally, Krennic jumps to the conclusion that they are having an affair. To retaliate, he slams a few drinks and finds Thrawn for a vengeful proposition. Thrawn, not one to waste his breath on such impudence, submits his declination via a formal rejection letter.

 

_Director Krennic,_

_It has come to my attention that you would like to engage in relations of a sexual nature with myself._

_Flattering as this may be, I must inform you that I am otherwise engaged in a substantial and significant affair with one General Maximilian Veers. I will also venture to assume you are still involved in a liaison with Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin._

_Please be advised that while you are not unbecoming in appearance and occasional interactions with you have been pleasant, a coital activity of this sort is untoward and inappropriate._ _  
_

_I can only assume that this proposal is due to a recent interaction between Governor Tarkin and General Veers as they sought to unwind after a trying and lengthy war. To clarify and hopefully cure you of melancholy, their activity consisted of nothing more than vigorous target practice in Docking Bay Nine, a facility designed for such events. You will be happy to know that aside from a little blood, no other bodily fluids were spilled during their time together._ _  
_

_Again thank you for your interest. I do hope this letter finds you well._ _  
_

_\- Grand Admiral Thrawn_

__


End file.
